One day at some sports enjoyed by the public I was introduced to a Mr.
and Mrs. Wentworth, visiting at our station and just from “home.” The
lady, for I am sure she was a lady, from the grateful news she brought
me, said, “I have some pleasant words for you. At Brighton we met Mrs.
Beresford, a charming woman, and just as we were leaving she remarked,
‘When you return to India, if you ever meet a Mr. Japhet, give him my
kindest regards,’ and with a smile she added, ‘and my love.’ You know
what it means, I suppose; I don’t, and Mrs. Beresford hadn’t time to say
anything more.”
This was so sudden from a stranger, and so incomprehensible, as I could
not think who could send me such a greeting and in words so full of
meaning, that I felt a blush running all over me. I tried to be as cool
as possible, and calmly remarked that I was not acquainted with any Mrs.
Beresford, and could not surmise who she could be. Mrs. Wentworth
replied that she was formerly Miss McIntyre, that her husband had died
and she was now a widow.
At the mention of that name my heart commenced a thumping as if this was
its own affair entirely, as it certainly was. If ever I was grateful
that my color did not permit me to blush in the Caucasian fashion, it
was then. I replied in an off-hand manner that I remembered having met
Miss McIntyre somewhere. However, I was very careful to ask where she
was residing and to get her post address, and also requested Mrs.
Wentworth when she wrote to her to give her my kindest regards, and in a
joking way I added, “also my love.” It was no joke to me though. The
very mention of that name sent a thrill—but why should I pin my heart on
my sleeve for every daw to peck at?
A new chapter in my life was commencing. I felt it and knew it. I lost
no time in sending off a letter stating the great pleasure it gave me to
hear even her name again, and thanking her for the pleasant greeting she
had sent me; I hoped she was well and happy; this was about the gist of
it. The letter was according to my best ability, sufficiently expressive
to show my feeling, yet cautious enough so as not to appear intrusive. I
knew well enough what the response would be. How, I cannot explain,
except on the theory of mental telegraphy or spiritual affinity or
something. I also stated that I did not recognize her by her new name;
that I also had been married, but was now alone, my wife having died
several years previous. By a slip of the pen I was about to write that I
regretted she had become a widow, but my heart would not let the pen
tell such a lie as that.
The months seemed to be years before the answer came. She wrote that she
had often thought of me, if I was living, if I was happy, and wondered
if she would ever see me again; that she had been most unhappy in her
marriage, assumed to please her parents; that she was now a happy widow,
if to use such an expression was not improper, but as she was Irish she
had the privilege of her race in using such a phrase. The letter was
modest and courteous, yet expressive enough to be most satisfactory to
me. It is hardly necessary for me to state that I was in a great state
of mind, or heart, to be exact, after the receipt of this most welcome
epistle.
My plans were at once made. I wrote that I had often thought of seeing
Europe, which was the truth, and as I had nothing to keep me in India,
and I might have added, very much, just then, to take me out of it, I
proposed to leave at once, that I might possibly come to England on my
tour. Why I made such an indefinite, round-about statement I do not
know. It is a species of fencing that pertains to our human nature, I
suppose. The real truth is, I was going principally to England. I did
not care more about Europe than about last year’s crop of figs, or of
the trees in the valleys of the moon. I wrote that if I went to England
at all, my address would be at my banker’s, at such a number in
Leadenhall street, and that if she would allow me to call on her I hoped
she would kindly drop me a line to that address. That was another little
deception to which I plead guilty. I was going to Leadenhall street as
quickly and as straight from Bombay as steam could carry me, and I knew,
as well as I knew why I was going, that a note from her, the only object
of my voyage, would be awaiting me there.
I boarded an old P. and O. boat, far too slow to suit me. One day I
suggested to the captain that a little more speed would not hurt any
passenger’s feelings. He then coolly and deliberately began a
calculation, or rather a rehearsal of what he had probably told a
thousand times, of the amount of coal it took for a ten mile speed, and
the ratio of increase of coal for every mile of increased speed. What
did I care about his coal bill? It was heartless in him to talk in that
cold way about his coal. What did he know about Leadenhall street, or
why I was going there? Nor would I have told him for all his old boat
was worth. It is said that physicians, by their constant acquaintance
with suffering and grief, become as insensible to them as wooden men;
so, probably, these captains, so familiar with the heart longings of
their anxious human freight, become as indifferent to them as the dummy
at the bow of the boat is to the rush of the waters.
There was no help for it. So many days had to be consumed to save
consuming extra coal, while my heart was consumed by insatiate longings.
I had my doubts and my fears, for who has not in such enterprises?
though before I started I was so positive about the matter. I wished I
had not resorted to any tricks, as we always do in such cases; may be I
was making a fool’s journey, may be some luckier fellow would carry off
the prize while I was lagging along at a snail’s pace. But what gave me
a little comfort was, that there were others in a worse predicament than
I was, going at a venture, not knowing when and where, afraid that not a
girl in the United Kingdom would have them, so I consoled myself
somewhat. This is a strange thing in human life, that no one ever finds
himself in such a plight but he knows some other worse off than himself.
I have never yet found the last man in the line who could not look down
upon some one lower than himself.
It is not pleasant to relate what is derogatory to myself, but a strict
regard for truth compels me to state that my situation on board the
steamer was far from agreeable. There were a number of English, military
and civilians, as passengers, returning home. Nearly all of them shunned
me with a cold disdain, as if I was some outcast unworthy of their
notice or regard. I overheard several inquiries as, “That Eurasian; who
is he?” I had become so accustomed to this kind of treatment, hardened
to it, that I cared very little about it; as long as they dropped me and
let me alone, I did not care either for their smiles or their sneers.
This statement is only partly true, for I could not help thinking and
feeling on the subject. I could not, however, bear so easily their
treatment of another passenger. He was a very quiet, unassuming
gentleman, of fine appearance and well dressed. He was not an
Englishman; that was evident at first sight, nor did he belong to any of
the nationalities subject to Great Britain, but it soon appeared, by the
remarks of some of the English, that he was an American. He did not
intrude upon them, but several of the military officers seemed to take
special pleasure, even during the first day out, in making offensive
remarks about Americans. They continued this throughout the voyage.
This gentleman could not appear on deck anywhere near these swells but
they would address him with a sneer, and in a mimicking nasal tone,
about something connected with his country and its people. As I had
never met an American, I could not understand these allusions, and they
seemed to me most discourteous and unbecoming from a set of men who
pride themselves upon being gentlemen. He certainly gave them no cause
for such remarks, for in his language, voice, courtesy and intelligence
he was the superior of all on board. He bore all their banter and sneers
very quietly, and isolated himself as much as possible, as if he was a
pariah to these high-bred people, as I was. We naturally came together,
which was most fortunate for me, and we spent many an hour in some quiet
corner. That he was a man of fine natural ability and education was
self-evident. He had traveled much and seen most of the countries of the
world, and made good use of his observation. He could talk of history,
science, art, manufactures, agriculture and literature. He was an
all-round man and full of information in regard to the countries and
people he had seen, and abounded in anecdotes which whiled away my time
very pleasantly. What the rest lost I gained by his acquaintance. I am
not quite a misanthrope, for I have as much admiration for some men as I
have dislike for others. I am a good admirer as well as a good hater.
One day as we were seated in the shade of one of the boats several of
the cads came along, and one of them remarked, talking through his nose,
“Wall, stranger, I guess you don’t have such kind of weather in
America!” My friend made no reply whatever, and the trio left us. I
referred to his quiet way of treating these fellows. He said “I have
found that the much better way is not to notice the disagreeables.” This
hit me, but no matter. “If one was to notice every puppy that snips at
his heels, he would have little time for anything else. It is the
English nature to make themselves disagreeable to foreigners.
Everywhere, all over the world, the same story is told of them, that
they are always sneering at what does not belong to their country, their
people and their set. They are born grumblers. They have a special
dislike to Americans. Why, I do not understand. It is true that many
Americans have peculiarities, but so have the English, and even more
noticeable than those they ridicule in us. In fact there is not a man or
woman living but could be ridiculed and caricatured, so as to appear not
only amusing but offensive. Ridicule is a most dangerous weapon, and I
have known the best of friendships severed by it. I regret the English
use it as they do when they have so many weak places in their own
character.
“The English come to America and we receive them with the greatest
cordiality, and try to make everything pleasant and comfortable for them
as our guests. They take all that we do as a matter of course, a tribute
of an inferior people to them as a superior nation. They will not admit
that we have any manners, society, literature, art or science, or if
they make any concession it is that the little we have got is borrowed,
or as most of them plainly put it, stolen from them. They regard our
kindness as presumption and officiousness, and resent it, some by
ridicule and others by contempt.
“To give you an instance: when the great Dickens came to our country we
received him as no Englishman had ever been received. Every one was
ready to do him a favor, so as to make his visit as pleasant to him as
possible. At an inland city, where he was to give a reading, the
proprietor of the hotel where he stopped went to his room and said, ‘Mr.
Dickens, I am the proprietor of the hotel, and I come myself to say that
if there is anything needed to make you comfortable, if you will only
let me know what it is I will take great pleasure in providing it.’ The
proprietor did not send a servant, but went himself. This was his idea
of hospitality and kindness. The great man, without rising from his
chair, with a wave of his hand and a gruff, insolent voice, retorted, ‘I
wish you would not bother me; when I need anything I will ring the
bell.’ The landlord was a retired officer of the army, a gentleman. We
have no castes as in England. We have gentlemen in every kind of
business. A man is taken at his real worth, no matter what his
employment. Some of our best men are merchants—shop-keepers, as they are
styled and despised in England.
“They say we have no manners. A Duke came to see America. He did not
think it worth while to get any letters of introduction to such a
boorish people. The English accuse us of thinking a great deal of
titles. This is so, for we have an idea that titles mean something, and
that those who have them are somebody. In this we have been deceived,
but who were the deceivers? The Duke happened to make a few
acquaintances, and was invited to a dinner party by one of the best
families. He delayed his coming so long that the dinner was kept
waiting, and when he appeared it was in a tweed bob suit, such as he
would wear at home in a morning stroll with his dogs. All the guests
were in full dress, and at once noticed his neglige attire. The hostess,
after recovering from her surprise, sent him word by a servant that she
would excuse his absence, as it was evident that he did not wish to meet
a dinner party. He took his leave, probably cursing the impudence of
those upstart Americans.
“Another instance. When Lady Brassey came to the United States in her
yacht, the ‘Sunbeam,’ she went to call on General Grant, the President,
and asked to be shown into his private office. Mr. Fish, the Secretary
of State, who happened to be present in the ‘White House,’ suggested
that he would confer with the President and appoint a time for calling.
When the time came she appeared dressed in a riding-habit and bringing a
small dog, which she proposed to take in with her. Mr. Fish ordered a
man in waiting to remove the dog. At this the Lady protested.
“‘It is against the rules for dogs to be allowed to enter the parlor.’
And still she insisted. Said the Secretary, ‘Madame, you must choose
between the removal of your dog and your being admitted to the President
of the United States.’ She then very reluctantly consented to its
removal.
“I doubt if such an instance of ‘cheek’ has ever been equaled by any
‘green’ American in England. The English are never backward in showing
up the forwardness of Americans, but they can go us two to one to their
discredit.
“One time, going from Liverpool to New York, there was an Englishman and
his wife on board, both great burly, ruddy beef-eaters. They acted as if
they thought the steamer was for their special accommodation. On
reaching port, each passenger was presented with a printed form on which
to declare all dutiable articles, according to law. He refused to do
anything, declaring that he would not submit to such a bloody custom. In
consequence, their luggage was sent to the Custom House, and while all
the other passengers were off and away, this haughty Briton had to open
every package and display every article for inspection, and besides had
to strip himself of most of his clothes for a personal examination, and
the female Britisher had to go through the same operation, in another
apartment, before the Customs woman. Probably neither of them were much
pleased with their American reception.
“It is strange that there is such a difference between people, living
under the same government, and so near to each other, but the Scotch,
the Irish and the Welsh are another kind of people altogether. They are
unselfish, courteous and agreeable. Have you noticed that Scotchman who
is so ready to offer his chair to any one? Catch an Englishman doing
that! You saw just now that seasick lady on deck for the first time, and
was seated in a chair, when one of these English gentlemen came up to
her with, ‘Madame, if you please, this is my chair,’ and waited till he
got it, while an Irishman close by gave her his.
“Here is a paragraph I cut from an English paper: ‘It is curious to
watch on board a steamer how the men of different nationalities behave
to a lady, no longer young, who is traveling alone. The Frenchman is
absolutely rude, if he gets the chance; the German simply takes no
notice; the Australian is frigidly polite; the Englishman takes the
trouble to be kind if his aid is solicited; the American is kind from
habit and without effort; the British colonist is attentive because
women of any kind are scarce in his country.’
“As an old traveler, I am greatly interested in noticing these
peculiarities in different races. The English are a queer lot, not
really bad at heart, I think, but it is in their domineering, arrogant
natures to act as they do, and which has made them such a powerful
nation. They are dull and slow, and almost lacking in the courtesies of
civilized life. I seldom meet an Englishman, but he gets in some remarks
against Americans, and I scarcely take up an English paper, but I find
some slur, or carping criticism on the ‘Yankees,’ as they call us. Yet,
they have the cheek to say to me, ‘If, in the event of a great European
war, you Americans would certainly side with us, as we are of the same
race, speak the same language, and our interests are the same.’ They do
not seem to be trying very much to make us their friends. It may be only
their way, however. A hundred thousand or more Americans go abroad every
year, and all spend some time, as well as money, in Great Britain.
Except a few favored ones, all tell the same story about the arrogance
and sneers of the English. These travelers return and tell their
acquaintances their experience, and it is not surprising if our people
have a dislike to our ‘English cousins,’ a phrase they use when they
wish to give us taffy.
“But we Americans should not complain, for it is to this same
aristocratic bull-dog spirit that we owe our independence. Otherwise,
America would still be an English colony. The Puritans were persecuted,
and were glad to go anywhere, not for freedom only, but to save their
necks. Under George the First, large numbers received ‘royal mercy,’ by
being transported to America. Many, driven from their homes in England,
found a refuge in Holland, and then in America. King George the Third
hated the colonists, and was their bitterest enemy, mainly because they
escaped from his tyranny. He proposed to tax them for the benefit of
England. The first predominant idea of an Englishman is taxation. This
seems to be as necessary to him as the air he breathes. With a swarm of
non-producing royal drones, the emoluments of the aristocracy and the
interminable lot of highly paid office-holders, and the hangers-on of
the government, and their sitting commissions, this taxation may be
necessary. If they enjoy it, then it is just what they ought to have.
“Our forefathers hated taxation as a kind of tyranny, and were bitterly
opposed to the stamp act. We keep down our taxes, except on luxuries,
and have not a stamp, but for postage, and this stamp is more for
convenience than otherwise.
“Everybody knows the sarcastic description of English taxation by Sydney
Smith, but I lately met with something on stamps, by an English writer,
that I copied in my note-book, and here it is: ‘The Englishman was a
stamped animal; he was tattooed all over. There was not a single spot of
his body corporate, that was not stamped several times. He could not
move without knocking his head against a stamp, and before he could
arrive at any station of responsibility, he must have paid more money
for stamps than would have set him up for life. The stamp penetrates
everywhere, it seizes upon all things, and fixes its claws wherever
there is a tangible substance. Sometimes, indeed, it flies to the
intangible, and quarters itself upon the air, the imagination of man,
his avocations, his insanity, his hopes and prospects, his pleasures and
his pains, and does not scruple to fasten upon his affections. Even love
is stamped. A man cannot fall in love and marry a lady without an
acknowledgement of the omnipotence of the stamp. An Englishman is born
to be stamped, he lives in a state of stamp, and is stamped while he is
dying, and after he is dead.’
“No wonder the English are cross-grained with all this embarrassment of
stamps, and ever in fear of being caught delinquent by some excise
officer.
“To show you the difference of taxation in the two countries, I will
read you a note I have on that subject. In the United States the
government receives five per cent on the products of the country;
capital, in the shape of interest, rent and dividends, twenty-five per
cent; and labor the balance, or seventy per cent. In Great Britain the
government receives twenty-three per cent; capital thirty-six; and labor
forty-one per cent. Another item I have noted from an India paper,
‘England spends twenty-three pence, America one hundred pence, and India
seven-tenths of a penny per head of population for primary education.’
The paper says that India spends seven pice a head. A pice is such a
curiosity to me that I have one in my pocket, and a pound weight of them
in my trunk, taking them home as presents to my friends. Yet, I am told,
there is still a smaller currency, a cowrie, a glaring proof of the
poverty of the people. No wonder that Dr. Marshman wrote that ‘The
Bengalis reckoned in cowries.’
“You see from this that the two systems of government, the English and
the American, are the reverse of each other. The one exacts all it can
from labor, and deprives the poor of education, while we favor the
laborer in every possible way, and provide that every youth in the
United States can have a good school education, whether the parents pay
a penny of taxes or not, and in many states, school books are also
provided free of charge.
“We begin to build our social structure at the bottom with education and
the elevation of the poor; the English system begins at the top and
builds downwards.
“Our prevailing idea is that wealth obtained by extortion to feed the
pampered tastes of the few, while the poor may groan in their undeserved
poverty and ignorance, is contrary to the dictates of morality, religion
and sound political economy.”
Then we were interrupted by the excitement caused by a shoal of
porpoises racing alongside the steamer. This over, we resumed our seats
under the life-boat, and he continued, “The aristocracy favored this
taxation, as it would lessen their own contributions to Government. The
time serving church, to ingratiate itself with the king, encouraged it.
The court was notoriously composed of incapable men and pliable
flatterers most suitable to the nature of his majesty. The king, thus
encouraged, too arrogant and pig-headed to listen to the few sensible
patriots in his realm, took the best possible means—brute force—to
alienate the colonists, to compel them to rebel and fight to the death
or for independence, ‘a war,’ says an English historian, not American,
‘most disgraceful to a civilized nation. An army with its foreign
mercenaries desolating the country, giving no quarter and employing the
savages to outrage and massacre helpless women and children.’
“We still have an inheritance left us by that Hessian army, the Hessian
fly, that every year attacks our fields of grain and is said to have
been brought over by them, a perpetual reminder of those foreign
mercenaries. Among the war expenses laid before Parliament was a bill
for scalping knives that had been given to the savage fiends and paid
for by Christian England for the benefit of her exiled people.
“I am not talking at random for some of my ancestral relatives were the
victims of those barbarities, and horrible are the recitals handed down
to us, one of the survivors being fortunate in living years afterwards,
but with a scalp made of other material than that which nature had
endowed him. It was a war most unjust, atrocious in its ferocity and
horrible cruelties, inflicted upon a people, the kinsmen of the English
as they now call us, whose only offense was that they objected to being
robbed of their properties and their just rights; to taxation without
representation.
“They say, why bring this up now? If the English can gloat over their
victory at Waterloo and their various conquests, why should we not be
proud of our victory? If any American should forget the sufferings and
heroism by which the freedom he now enjoys was obtained, he should be
outlawed and kicked through the country and out of it. I said that the
church encouraged the war against the colonies. It did more. This is
what a clergyman of that church said in a sermon against the ‘rebels,’
as they were styled. ‘How will the supporters of this anti-Christian
warfare endure their sentence, endure their own reflections, endure the
fire that forever burns, the worm that never dies, the hosannas of
heaven while the smoke of their torments will ascend forever and ever?’
He now, poor fellow is where he can probably see what a donkey he made
of himself.
“Says an English historian: ‘In all ages of the world, priests have been
enemies to liberty, and it is certain that this steady conduct of theirs
must have been founded in fixed reasons of interest and ambition.
Liberty of thinking and of expressing our thoughts is always fatal to
priestly power, and to those pious frauds on which it is commonly
founded. Hence it must happen in such a government as that of Britain
that the established clergy, while things are in their natural situation
will always be of the court party.’”